Carmilla
"I would rather not live than live in a world without you."
The words floated in her mind as she lay in a bed of red...not the coppery sticky colour of blood but a soft bed of red poppies. Their delicate petals danced gently in the breeze.
This thought wasn't a surprise to her anymore, it haunted her since that faithful night three years ago when her father's life slipped away from him...the blood, the red sickening blood pooling at his neck, where his head usually occupied. Since then, each day has passed in a blur, identical to the last.
The thought echoed in her mind once more, "I would rather not live than live in a world without you."
Carmilla's gaze drifted upward, toward the sky's brilliant canvas, wondering what magnificent artist was responsible for it all.
She sat up and gathered a handful of poppies, their delicate stems intertwining around her fingers. The soft petals tickled her palm, a soothing sensation.
She rose to her feet, her long, white hair cascading down her back like a river of moonlight. She began to wander through the sea of red, her feet barely making a sound on the soft earth. The poppies seemed to part for her, as if yielding to her gentle presence.
This was her sanctuary, her safe haven in an otherwise chaotic world.
As she walked, the poppies swayed in her wake, like a chorus of silent, crimson ballerinas.
"I have to feed," She whispered to herself. Her body protested, weakened by the prolonged fast. How long had it been since she last succumbed to the hunger? Weeks? Months? Time lost meaning in her endless grief.
Carmilla's legs trembled beneath her as she made her way toward the village, the slums she now called home. The poppies' tranquility faded, replaced by the gnawing ache within. Her stomach growled.
As she walked, the street lights beckoned, a warm glow in the fading daylight. Carmilla's vision blurred, her senses heightened by the hunger. Every sound, every scent, became more intense.
She spotted a bakery owner, packing up for the day as laughter and music spilled out into the night air. Carmilla's gaze locked onto the pulsing vein in his neck, and her fangs lengthened, begging for release.
Carmilla struggled to keep her control as she walked up to the bakery owner, her hips swaying seductively. She batted her eyelashes, her honey gold eyes that rivaled the stars.
"Good evening, handsome," she said, her voice husky. "I'm craving something sweet. Cream-filled puffs, perhaps? Or maybe..." She leaned in closer, her breath whispering against his ear. "You could fill me with cream."
The bakery owner's eyes widened, his face flushing. He licked his lips, his gaze drifting to her breasts.
"I'm afraid I'm closed," he said, his voice trembling.
"Make an exception," she whispered, her hand brushing against his chest. "For me."
The bakery owner's resolve crumbled as he stepped aside.
"Come in," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Carmilla glided into the shop,
"Show me the sweetest treats," she purred.
The bakery owner obeyed.
As he reached for a tray, Carmilla ran her hands over his body.
"You're so strong," she whispered.
Her fingers danced across his chest, and made their way down to the buckle of his belt.
"And handsome."
She went behind him, her tongue ran along his ear before she grazed it with her teeth.
Her warm breath sent shivers down his spine.
"You would taste incredible," she whispered.
"No, you would taste incredible you little hoe," he said as he turned around and trailed his fingers along the curve of her breast. "I have so many treats for you."
She laughed and said "Lucky for me, I have a sweet tooth."
Before he could respond, Carmilla sank her fangs into his neck.
His screams were muffled by her hand on his mouth.
She fed on him, ravishing in the euphoria of blood filling her mouth.
As she drank to her satisfaction, she let his body sink into the ground.
Wiping her bloody hands on his shirt, she said "A girl should never get herself dirty."
Carmilla's fingers danced over the pastries, selecting the most decadent treats. She packed a large bag with cream-filled pies, tarts, buns, and cinnamon rolls. The sweet aromas wafted up, mingling with the lingering scent of blood.
Carmilla's fingers dipped into the dead man's pocket, retrieving a handful of gold coins. She laughed, the sound tinkling like crystal.
"Stupid, stupid men," she whispered, shaking her head as she stuffed her mouth with a donut.
As she exited the bakery, the cool night air caressed her skin, carrying the sweet scent of pastries and the metallic tang of blood. Carmilla's senses felt alive.
She walked through the deserted streets, the bag slung over her shoulder, its contents threatening to spill out.
Carmilla's thoughts refocused on Alya, who she knew would be waiting for her in their little home. She quickened her pace, turning a corner to reveal their small cottage.
Carmilla's heart swelled with affection as she pushed open the door. Alya sat by the fire, her eyes sparkling as she rose to greet Carmilla.
"Carmilla, you're back." Alya exclaimed, eyeing the bag. "What treats have you brought me?"
Carmilla handed her the bag. "Cream-filled pies, tarts, buns, and cinnamon rolls," she said with a smile "I dropped the poppies."
Alya's eyes widened as she dug in. "Mmm, bliss!" she hummed, closing her eyes to savor the first bite.
Carmilla laughed, joining Alya on the ground, by the little fire.
Alya munched on a cinnamon roll, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "And which sad soul was unfortunate enough to cross paths with you tonight?" she asked.
Carmilla laughed, reaching into the bag. "A bakery owner," she said, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "He wanted to fill me with cream."
Alya's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? And did he succeed?"
Carmilla chuckled. "Both our stomachs are filled aren't they?"